


Coran Is The Dealer

by nipchewns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, they bang in a lion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13320057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nipchewns/pseuds/nipchewns
Summary: Keith seeks out Shiro for Business and Leisure





	Coran Is The Dealer

**Author's Note:**

> The format is probably a little wonky; I'm still trying to figure out a style I like, but thanks for showin up man

When he walked into the hangar, Keith had no actual expectations of finding Shiro. Not _really_.

He’d spent the better half of ten _whole_ minutes searching for him; he was feeling affectionate, in the mood for company. So he’d sought Shiro in the more obvious places first. The training deck, Shiro’s own room, the training deck, the kitchen, the training deck; the hanger was really just a shot in the dark.

But there was Black, bold as brass, purring softly, her eyes bright. She let him in after giving him a brief stare down—just long enough to make his underarms start to prickle with nervous sweat. He patted what he could reach of her face in thanks, and headed inside.

“So this is where you’re hiding,” he said, peering over the top of the pilot’s chair.

Shiro looked up, a little startled, but ultimately unsurprised to see that it was Keith.

“I never hide. And even if I did, I know you’ll always find me eventually.”  
  
Keith raised himself onto his toes, struggling a bit to haul himself over the high back of the seat to place a kiss on Shiro’s forehead. Shiro poorly held back a laugh, being utterly unhelpful and remaining completely still, enjoying the furrow of Keith’s brow as he fruitlessly wriggled, still straining to drag himself up and over, his boots catching, then sliding down the leather.

He pried Keith’s hand from where it dug into his chair, dragging him around to the front where he tugged him by the wrist and down to his level and planted a kiss firmly on his mouth. It was quick, and when it was over, they looked at each other, a half smile playing on Shiro’s lips. Keith yanked his wrist back, pulling himself away to rest on the front panel.

He felt dumb, giddy over a kiss. He tempered it by crossing his arms over his chest.

“What are you doing all the way out here by yourself, anyway?”

Shiro snorted.

“Illicit activities,” he said, returning to the little bundle of _something_ in his lap; Keith hadn’t noticed it before. He squinted at it.

"What is it?" Keith asked. He had an idea, the pipe, lighter, and small bag of heretofore unidentified plant matter giving it away.

"It's pot. Kind of."

He watched as Shiro methodically picked the stems from the buds, putting them aside in a neat pile on Black's side control panel.

"Where did you even get it?"

"Coran. He told me about it. He said on Altea, it was a medicinal herb used to calm anxiety and promote mental wellness and stability in soldiers after they'd come home from war. He apparently he drinks it regularly as a tea, and he makes the same tea for Allura after she's done one of those crystal ceremonies. Good for the nerves. And the skin, apparently."

Keith picked up the bag and held it to his nose. It was fragrant, the scent reminiscent of jasmine, but pungent and with the slight underlying smell of petrol.

"Smells better than pot."

Shiro smiled, removing the last of the stems and crushing the plant between his fingers and into the bowl on his lap. Keith watched as he lifted the pipe to his lips, taking in the dark lashes of his downcast eyes, the shadow cast by the flickering flame upon his cheeks. He inhaled deeply, reclining back into his chair.

"Smokes better than pot, too."  
  
Keith stared unabashedly at him he held the smoke deep in his chest, then slowly exhaled through his nose. The smoke was a sweet teal color, and strangely shimmery. Keith had always thought he looked attractive when he smoked.

That hadn’t changed.

Shiro opened his eyes again, blowing the remainder of the smoke from his lungs through the side of his mouth, away from Keith, considerate to the last. He adjusted in his chair once more, sinking down a little lower, his arms loose and relaxed over the sides, pipe held limply in one hand. He looked comfortable and very young like this.

“High already?”  
  
Shiro smiled. “Not at all.”

“Do you just use it for a good time, or what?”  
  
Shiro looked at him for a long moment. “Not usually.”

Keith looked away, feeling like he’d stepped passed a boundary he hadn’t meant to. He wasn’t going to press. Instead, he watched as Shiro tamped the contents of the pipe into a neater configuration, picking out a previously missed stem. He lit the bowl once more and took another hit, shorter this time, and with his eyes on Keith. After exhaling a second time, he rested his head upon his own shoulder, proffering the pipe to his companion. Keith stared at it.

“What’s it like?”

“It’s intense,” Shiro answered, “When I get flashbacks, I use to help unpack and understand what happened. It feels like I’m there again, in real time.”

Keith wrinkled his nose in open distaste.

“That sounds horrible.”

Shiro laughed, throwing his head back. “It’s cathartic.”  
  
“Maybe.”

Keith’s poorly hidden expression of abject horror made him feel soft. He smiled.

“It _is_ pretty awful.”

“But it helps you.”

“It helps me.”

Keith reached for the pipe. Shiro made no move toward him, just looked at him, lighter in hand, as Keith waited expectantly for him to light it.

“Stop being difficult.”  
  
Shiro scooted to the edge of his seat and beckoned Keith to close the gap between them. Keith obliged, filling the space between Shiro’s spread knees. Shiro pulled him down to his level once again and lit the bowl, watching Keith intently as he inhaled.

“This is familiar.”

Keith smiled around his mouthful of smoke, the flavor slightly sour and the smoke smooth and cool like menthol. He felt a hand come to rest at the back of his thigh, gentle and firm, pulling him as close to Shiro’s lap as the chair would allow. He exhaled, not sparing Shiro the same courtesy and blew smoke into his face. Shiro blew through the cloud, dispersing it with a smile.

It _was_ familiar. They’d spent countless lazy afternoons like this, enjoying each other’s company, blaming their obvious need to be close to one another on the effects of the weed.

“Does it still make your horny?”

Shiro laughed, pulling Keith even closer still until his knees bumped against his chair. “That was never me.”  
  
“Yeah, it was.”  
  
“No, if I remember correctly, that was always, _always_ you.”

“I definitely remember—“  
  
“Incorrect.”

Shiro’s mirth was contagious, and Keith loved it, leaned down and kissed it out of his mouth.

He felt the pipe being plucked from his fingers, watched again as Shiro lit and dragged long and deep. He pressed his hands to his expanded chest, wondering if he tried hard enough he could feel the smoke being held there. Shiro hummed softly and tilted Keith’s chin down toward him, and pressed their lips together. Keith ran his hands from their place on Shiro’s chest, along his neck to cup his jaw. Shiro breathed into him, and Keith drank it in, filled his lungs, tasted the cool smoke, and sucked the tang of citrus from his tongue. He felt headier from the softness of Shiro’s mouth than from the drug.

He let the smoke roll from his mouth as it will, sighing when Shiro tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. When it was gone, he turned his full attention to Shiro’s mouth, hands still holding his face, kissing him slowly, softly, deeply, taking his time and finally, _finally_ giving in to the insistent pressure at the back of his thigh, turning his body to fit neatly, if a bit uncomfortable, in the space between Shiro’s legs. The chair wasn’t made for two, but they’d made worse work. Shiro lifted Keith's legs up and over the armrests, making no effort to be subtle with his handling of Keith's thighs, squeezing the muscle there indulgently before coming to rest lazily about his hip.

Keith felt extremely satisfied, almost smug. It was never a question of whether or not Shiro would give him attention, but the novelty of just how willing and eager to shower him in it Shiro was had not worn off just yet. He didn’t think it ever would.

This time it was Keith who lit the bowl, taking a longer hit than strictly necessary, or strictly advisable considering his inexperience with the substance. And this time, instead of being pulled down to meet Shiro, Shiro swept down to meet him without hesitation to steal the smoke from between his lips.

He didn’t feel high. Not yet, and not like he was used to, but he did feel _something_. A little more aware, a little more awake; he could feel his own heartbeat thrumming from his chest to his toes. A little like he was floating, and a lot like the loose grip Shiro held on his hip was probably the only thing anchoring him to solid ground.

Shiro peppered his mouth with kisses one after the other, a playful nip here and there, drawing a laugh from Keith's throat that sounded far away to his own ears when it met open air. He pulled Shiro down to him with a solid hand on the back of his neck, still smiling. As Shiro swept his tongue past his lips, warm and insistent, ran his hand from his hip up the back of his shirt to meet soft skin. Keith felt himself growing hot, and their earlier conversation came back to him.

"I think you may have been right."

Shiro hummed against his jaw.

"Right about what."

"I think it _was_ always me."

He felt the warmth of his breath as Shiro let out an amused huff, then a sucking kiss being pressed to his neck. Shiro nuzzled against him dotingly, kissing his way back up to Keith's ear.

"Let me take care of you, baby."

Keith shivered from his quiet earnestness, then stretched languorously over Shiro's lap before answering simply, and with a smile.

"Okay."

They shared a long kiss, and then Shiro was nudging Keith’s knees from where they sat hinged over the armrests. Keith took the hint and snuck a smattering of kisses before allowing him to slide out from behind him and onto his knees. Keith righted himself, sitting up straight and tall, impertinently crossing his legs even as Shiro’s eyes darted up from Keith’s lap to his face, genuinely, adorably, hazily confused.  
  
“Genuflecting?” Keith asked, looking haughtily down his nose at Shiro, who was running his hands slowly, reverently, up the length of Keith’s crossed thighs, gently trying to push them apart.

“I am a humble servant here to worship.”

Keith spread his legs easily if a bit sluggishly. Shiro shucked his vest before making quick work of Keith's belt and fly, dragging his pants down just enough expose the fleshy tops of Keith’s thighs, which he nipped at indulgently, knowing full well how sensitive they tended to be, and humming to himself in fuzzy satisfaction at the sweet, surprised whimpering laugh from his partner.

He wasn’t hard, but Shiro wasn’t offended. Years of familiarity had taught him that Keith was a spectacularly willing participant, though it took him a little bit of time to get warmed up. With an unfamiliar sedative in his blood, Shiro figured it may take just a bit longer, which was fine; Getting Keith off, working him up until he was sweating, shaking from overstimulation was never a chore.

Shiro took his time, working Keith’s cock over with both of his hands. He nibbled once again at his thighs, suckling at the skin there for no other reason than he was high, and Keith’s warm skin felt good against his mouth. Keith’s soft sighs filtered in and out of the ether in his haze, warbling as though through water. Shiro couldn’t decide whether or not he liked that, but it didn’t matter; the sound had the same effect. He bit particularly hard into the meat of Keith’s thigh, sucking roughly before running the flat of his tongue over what was already shaping up to be a gnarly bruise.

Above him, Keith let out a moan deep in his throat, bringing his hand to cup Shiro gently at the side of his jaw.  
  
“That hurts.” He said softly.

“I’m sorry, baby.”  
  
He wasn’t.

 

He placed a quick kiss to the spot to back up his claim, and immediately contradicted himself when he took a hand off Keith’s cock to push his thighs further apart and dug his thumb roughly into its center. Keith whined, and Shiro comforted him with a long suck to his tip, twisting his remaining hand upward to meet his mouth. He bobbed his head slowly, hollowing his cheeks with steady suction, revelling in the feel of Keith’s blunt nails raking against the peach-fuzzed back of his head. Keith’s toes were curled almost painfully in his boots; he was feeling the drug more keenly now, and it was intense, just as Shiro had said it would be.

He couldn’t stop himself from shifting restlessly in Shiro’s chair, wanting simultaneously to pull away from Shiro’s tortuous mouth and fuck his face relentlessly until he was drooling around him, cock buried deep in his tight throat. Instead, he groaned audibly, his voice cracking on the syllables of Shiro’s name, and he could feel the mirth in the pleased hum he gave from below him.

 

He was so hazy now, and his limbs felt light, but he was buzzing from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his clenched toes. Shiro’s mouth on him felt amazing, slow as he was, and Keith thought briefly that this was good, this could be perfect just as it was, but curiosity and a propensity to do Too Much overwhelmed him, and he reached for the pipe once again, lighting it, his body bowing inward at particularly hard suck from Shiro.

 

He groaned loudly, the sound all from his belly, his thighs trembling and eyes squeezing tight shut as he inhaled the shimmering green vapor. Shiro, having taken notice of what was happening above him pulled off with a resounding _pop,_ and jerked Keith hard enough to make him whimper pathetically, wisps of held smoke escaping through his nose involuntarily.

 

“Can you pay attention?”  
  
Keith laughed, exhaling, feeling too warm and incredibly, incredibly stoned. He patted Shiro’s cheek affectionately, then guided his head back down to his waiting cock. Shiro instead grabbed him behind the knees, pulling him roughly to the edge of the chair.

He nipped hard at the sensitive juncture of Keith's thigh just to see him squirm, then eagerly took him back into his mouth, determined to retaliate for the slight on his pride. Keith was still laughing, a slow, bubbling, drawn-out thing, he wasn't entirely in control of, staccato with his hitching breath, and punctuated every so often with a soft groan of assent.

 

"Shiro," he sighed, soft and wanton, and so quiet that Shiro might have missed it if it weren't for the bizarre reverberation he'd become accustomed to as a welcome carryover of his high. He dragged the head of Keith's cock over his tongue, dipping just low enough to tuck his tongue tight under the ridge and suck, hard and unrelenting. It was enough to stop Keith's breath and make his leg jerk fitfully in Shiro's hands, and Shiro grabbed him by the ankle to steady him.

 

Shiro could feel him shivering under his hands as if from cold, but Keith had rarely felt so warm and pliant.

 

Under the influence of familiar but not quite familiar drug, Keith had lost his usual fervor, which Shiro was enjoying immensely. It allowed him to take his time, work him over as long as he wanted to. Feeling cheeky, he pulled off once again, trailing kisses up Keith's stomach to where his shirt was rucked up over his chest. He had barely opened his mouth to tease Keith about his new found patience when he felt something hard and cold against his cheek. He looked up at him, unsure. Keith was smirking, cheeks flushed and eyes lidded and unfocused as he levelled Shiro with his gaze.

Shiro took the  _thing_ from him, and he felt more than heard Keith's laughter. A bottle of lube and a condom pressed to the side that he hadn't felt before.

“You came prepared…”

 

Again and again, Keith's soft, easy laughter rung in his ears.

 

“Gotta keep _something_ in my utility belt.”

 

Shiro stared at him nonplussed. The mood had been completely broken, but he was determined to get it back.

 

Keith was still laughing when he shoved his knees wide against the arms of his chair, pushing them tight against his chest.

He suckled at the tip of Keith's cock, light and soft, just enough to be good, but just shy of satisfying. Keith's head hit the back of the chair with a soft _thud_ . Shiro whispered a sweet, “ _breathe, baby”_ before pushing a finger into him. Above him, Keith sighed once more, closing his eyes in quiet anticipation. He felt far away from everything but could feel Shiro as acutely as he ever had. Shiro worked him open without haste, simply enjoying the soft sounds he made. Keith was extremely relaxed, his body opening easily around two, then three fingers. Something about that was pleasing to Shiro, but in the same vein made him feel competitive.

 

He pulled his fingers back suddenly, heat creeping into his chest at Keith's groan of dissatisfaction. He gave Shiro a look, eyes bright with a clear reprimand, and Shiro didn't care to hear it. He plunged his fingers back into Keith all at once. He let out a shocked exhale at being so full so suddenly, then groaned again as Shiro pressed mercilessly against his prostate.

 

Much better.

 

He withdrew his fingers once again, then started a rhythm that had Keith pitching forward, folding himself nearly in half. Shiro pushed him back roughly by the shoulder, pinning him to the chair. There was a moment where he seemed to stop breathing, a moment where all the sound seemed to leave, only for it to come rushing back, almost more loudly than he could bear.

 

“Oh, _god_ , Shiro.”

 

His voice was foreign and distant to his own ears, and he'd slid so far down into the chair that his shoulders were near the seat, and the leather burned where it dragged against his back. The abrupt change from feeling hazy and relaxed to suddenly feeling his nerves alight was hard to compartmentalize.

Shiro was jabbing his prostate so often and so rapidly he felt he couldn't catch his breath. His fingers were long and thick, rough with calluses and felt so, so good. Tears were starting to form at the corners of his eyes from the abuse, and he sobbed when Shiro ripped his fingers from him again, his hole clenching around nothing, but only for a moment before Shiro was filling him with his cock.

 He groaned loudly, grabbing what he could reach of Shiro’s forearms in an attempt to ground himself. Shiro held him by the hips, and yanked them forward, dragging him down the length of the chair until his back was flat against the seat, his ass pressed tightly against Shiro’s hips. His haze had dissipated completely, leaving only absolute awareness. He hole was spread so wide around the girth of him, the stretch nearing too much, and the soreness that had set in after being roughly fingered for an amount of time he couldn't even try to comprehend only added to the feeling of being pleasantly used.

Shiro's grip on Keith's hips was bruising, his fingers digging into what little softness he had there. God, he was always so tight, _somehow,_ so tight despite the extended effort he consistently put into preparing him. He'd never fucked Keith like this, not high like this, not when there was something there to force him into feeling everything, everything, _everything_ so clearly.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Keith.”

 

His voice was gravel in his throat.

 

Under him, Keith threw an arm over his face, nodding fervently at nothing Shiro could identify.

He snapped his hips forward, driving into him hard and fast. Keith was babbling, his voice choppy from Shiro’s pace. He could feel every drag of Shiro’s cock inside of him ten times over and he felt wild with it. Every brush of Shiro’s hands over his hips, every ridge of every fingerprint was there, felt in startling clarity. His body _hurt,_ he was so sore, his feet cramped from his clenched toes, and he couldn't get enough.

 

The tears that threatened to fall earlier ran scalding down his cheeks as Shiro pounded into him.

He was hyperaware of how loud he was being, and how miserable of a job he was doing trying to tell Shiro what he deserved to hear, but he couldn't stop. He was getting so close, and making an absolute mess, his cock dribbling onto his taut stomach. He sobbed again when Shiro changed his angle just _so,_ his back bowing near entirely off of the seat. Shiro's hand wrapped around his cock and jerked him roughly and he shouted with the force of his orgasm, come painting his chest, his shirt, and the very tip of his chin.

He shook violently with it, clenching tight around Shiro, who groaned, chasing with Keith's name and getting lost in the ether. His breath was coming in harsh pants, a steady stream of “Keith, Keith, Keith, baby, _fuck,”_ spilling from his lips.

Keith dragged Shiro down by the elbows enough that he could wrap his arms around his shoulders, and he lifted him from the chair completely. He could tell Shiro was close by the tremble in his arms, but he was so prone to being a selfless partner that he tended to cater to whatever whim Keith had. He bit down hard into Shiro's sweat damp shoulder and sucked, clenching his thighs tight around his waist for leverage. Shiro groaned as if he'd been punched at the bite, and Keith dropped himself down on his cock _hard._

 

 _“Fuck,_ baby, that's too good.”

 

Keith laughed horsely, bouncing on Shiro's cock unrestrainedly. Shiro met him with a snap of his hips each time, whining high in his throat.

 

“Yeah?” Keith asked, smugly.

 

Shiro buried his face in his neck, bowing forward, his knees weak, holding Keith almost parallel to the ground, desperately chasing orgasm. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Keith was praising Shiro's impressive athleticism.

 

“Yeah, babe?” he was asking nothing, but Shiro whimpered into his neck, nodding.

 

“Yes, fuck, _fuck_ , Keith!”

 

Shiro groaned long and low, panting hard, and held Keith to his chest vice-like. Keith felt the rush of heat inside of him as Shiro spilled into the condom, trembling and exhausted, but somehow still not having dropped him. He righted himself, then placed Keith gently into the pilot’s chair before pulling out.

 

Keith ran his fingers across the back of his slick neck, scratching softly, the original haziness creeping slowly back into him. Shiro had all but collapsed between his open knees, his weight resting heavily on Keith as he came down, still groaning softly.

Shiro soon detached himself from Keith, tucking himself back into his pants before using his discarded vest to wipe Keith down as best he could.

 

“You didn't have to do that.”

He shrugged and pulled Keith's wrinkled shirt down from under his arms.

“You're gonna look suspicious.”

“Not if I don't get caught. Which is why I came all the way out here to hide in the first place.”

“I thought you said you never hide.”

He kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> it's called Coran is the dealer because he gives Shiro drugs


End file.
